The Mage Who Dared
by i.paint.the.sky
Summary: Written for the DA Kink Meme. The story of how exactly Wynne come to be pregnant with a templar's child.


Note: This was originally written for the wonderful kinkmeme, for a prompter who wanted to know more about how Wynne became pregnant. As I was writing this I also read _Asunder _and because of this I have made some small changes to the fic as it was originally posted, in order to better match up with the novel.

* * *

**The Mage Who Dared**

"Breathe in deeply."

Wynne did as she was told, hard as it was to focus on anything but the pressure that had invaded her body. Breathing did help but not enough. All she felt was pain.

She breathed in again as the contractions subsided slightly, a reminder that this was going to be a long night. But she was already so tired and didn't know how she'd make it through. How had women done this for so long?

Why had she put herself through this?

No, she couldn't – but she already had thought of it and suddenly a million unnameable emotions joined exhaustion, each of them fighting for attention. One stood out above the rest, as it always had.

Regret.

She closed her eyes and let herself remember. Today, of all days, she was allowed ...

* * *

After almost tens years at the Tower, Wynne hardly noticed the templars anymore. Some of her fellows found it uncomfortable being peered at from behind layers of armour but for her they were as much a part of the scenery as the doorways and the statues - and at least the statues were nice to look at. It also didn't hurt that the forbidden magics had no appeal to her and so she couldn't care less about anyone watching her for them. She had absolutely nothing to hide.

That was, at least, until the day Ser Hector carried her books.

It was a simple enough gesture, anywhere else – _anyone _else – and it would have been insignificant. It was late at night and Wynne was on her way back from the library, with six or seven books in her arms. She preferred to read them in bed, before going to sleep, rather than in the library itself and she could never borrow just one, just in case she needed to look something up in another. As she was walking down the hallway, she caught her foot on a loose stone in the floor and suddenly her precious cargo was falling to the floor, along with the rest of her.

Because it was so late, there was no one else in the hallway. No one, that is, except for a lone templar, standing there like a perfect suit of armour. The helmet was turned towards her, the eyes she could not see watching. Wynne looked away and began to gather up her books but looked up startled at the sudden sound of it moving towards her. She froze, all the midnight horror stories running through her head but as the templar drew closer, she could see eyes looking out through the helmet, kind and gentle eyes. He reached down and picked up one of the books, then handed it to her.

"Here you are, miss," he said, his voice echoing from inside the helm.

Wynne just stared at him for a moment, before hesitantly reaching out and taking the tome. Together, they quickly gathered the others up and soon they were all in her arms again. "Thank you," she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper.

"You're welcome," he replied before standing back up and returning to his spot.

Wynne hurried off towards the dormitory but paused at the doorway. She looked back once, twice ... and then went inside, her heart pounding for too many reasons to name.

* * *

She didn't see him again for weeks. The templars worked on a rotation, keeping everyone fresh or something like that, as a mage Wynne wasn't exactly privy to such details. And besides, what did she care anyway? It wasn't like she was looking for him or anything either. If she just happened to notice that he wasn't around the library these days, well, she was just observant, nothing more. Or so she kept telling herself.

But then one night he was there again and all the things she kept telling herself just flew out the window.

There were still a few others in the library and so she found herself sitting with a book on the table before her, reading the same sentence over and over again and it made less sense each time. Finally there was only one other mage there – Irving of course, he was always an overachiever. Wynne knew she was glaring lightning at him every time she looked over, not that he noticed. She stared back down at the book and gritted her teeth. What was she even doing?

Finally – _finally_ – Irving packed up his books and headed towards the dormitory. Wynne waited several minutes before standing herself. She took a deep breath and walked over towards the templar. He didn't move or say anything. She got close enough to see his eyes again though and he was watching, waiting.

"What's your name?" she asked. She kept her voice low but the sound was still startling across the silence.

"Hector," he replied.

"Hello, Ser Hector," she told him, debating and deciding against offering her hand, "my name is Wynne."

"I know."

That surprised her and it must have shown because Hector began to chuckle softly. It was one of the strangest things she had ever heard, the sound bouncing around inside his helmet – and that didn't even begin to take in the oddness of a laughing templar. And then something even stranger, at least for anyone in the Circle, he reached out and took the helm off.

His eyes were golden brown; she hadn't been able to tell that before. His hair was dark brown and cut short, the rest of his face clean shaven. A strong, chiseled jaw, thick lips. He was ... beautiful.

This was a terrible idea.

"I should ... go, go now," she told him, taking a step back. He tried to reach out for her but with all the armour on she was quicker. "Don't," she told him after she put a healthy distance between them. "Please."

He stared at her and then nodded. She began to walk away. Just as she reached the exit, she heard his voice again, calling out.

"Wynne ... if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

She walked out without answering, this time without looking back.

* * *

Pain brought Wynne back to the present. "Maker please, I need to push," she cried out.

"Shh," the sister by her side soothed, "I know you do, dear. But it's not time yet. Soon but not now."

Wynne let herself cry out in frustration, feeling tears begin to fall down her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she said, "I'm sorry ..."

The sister reached out and squeezed her hand. "Andraste has mercy on all her children. She forgives you."

It was meant as comfort but it wasn't. Not when it was Andraste's fault that this had happened at all.

* * *

Wynne's heart was pounding as she climbed the stairs, following the First Enchanter. In her head, a million questions bounced around each other but she knew better than to try and ask any of them. Even the books in the library had little to say about the Harrowing, other than warnings about what it meant to fail.

At the room on the top there were other mages waiting to assist with the ritual. And with them were the templars. As she cast her eyes upon them, she saw one shift, a small movement but in her heart she knew it was Hector behind the helm. She had done her best to avoid him in the weeks since that night. It was a cruel twist of fate to bring them together now, when chances were high that he would have to help slay her. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to look away. It was just another reason why she had to succeed, _had_ to.

The First Enchanter lead her towards the stand in the middle of the room, explaining just what would happen now as she walked. She nodded at the explanation, basic information that all mages knew by her age. Finally, he asked if she was ready. Acutely aware of Hector's presence just behind her, to the left, she nodded and reached out, touching the lyrium and letting a the power of pure magic engulf her, taking her both near and far and right into the Fade.

* * *

The first thing Wynne notices is that she isn't breathing. The second is that she doesn't need to, not here. She looks around. The world is humming and blurring and details are hard to recall after she looks away. She takes one step forward and then another. Her legs look the same and work the same but she wonders if that's only because she wills them to be so and do so.

This world at first seems empty but this is not the case. Oh, is it not the case at all. The Fade teems with spirits of all shapes and sizes; some attack, others run, still others beckon her near. Wynne does this cautiously, being careful not to accept any deal that comes with a price she cannot – will not – pay. And nothing that involves the world beyond, the world of clarity and right and wrong and a templar's sword pointed at her heart.

She knows there is a demon here somewhere. The one who calls himself Valour had told her that, as he laid his dream creation in her hands. The staff is smooth and strangely warm. It smells of life and thunder, if that makes any sense. Wynne doesn't think it does but it does not matter, things are as they are.

She sees movement to the left and turns just in time to see a flash of steel flickering before her eyes. She walks towards it, bringing the staff out before her and watching.

"I knew you would find me."

She spins and Hector is there, shining in his armour though his helm is missing.

"How are you here?" she asks. Something is not right.

Hector smiles and her knees feel weak. "What does it matter, dearest. I am here now."

He reaches out to her and she sees his hands are also bare. They are warm when he touches her arms, when one finger caresses the curve of her jaw. She closes her eyes and just feels for a moment – then her eyes snap back up as she realizes what is wrong.

"This is a trick," she tells him.

"Is it?" Hector asks and he leans forward, his lips inches from hers. "And is this a trick as well?" He kisses her and she cannot find the will to pull away. She has been kissed before, many times, but never like this. Suddenly, for her, the whole world is made up of only them and here and now.

But when it ends, she finds herself and takes a step back. "No. Stop. I will not be so easily tempted."

Hector's hand is still on her arm and his grip tightens, enough to cause pain. "And what if I were to give you more. A love of your own, a life of your own. Would you like that, my sweet?"

With an ungraceful jerk, she frees herself from his grasp. "No. I see through your lies, demon, and I refuse to have anything to do with them."

There was a shimmer, like heat from a candle, and then Hector is gone and in his place is something like a naked woman with purple skin and glowing eyes. "Then I shall kill you and take it all from you anyway," the demon declares and suddenly rushes out, attacking.

The battle lasts for a moment and an eternity. At the end, Wynne is on her knees and the demon is gone. She reaches out and touches the ground into which is disappeared. "So this is where desire brings me," she whispers softly.

"No, you must not think such things."

A new voice, like music. Wynne looks towards it but has to look away for it comes from such pure light. She looks again and can see a woman beneath the glow, a beautiful, peaceful woman, nothing like the creature that had tormented her. This spirit looked almost like ... but it couldn't be her, could it?

"Andraste?" The question comes almost unbidden from her lips.

The spiritwoman laughs. "You may call me that, if you wish. But what I want most of all is for you to listen. We do not have much time left before you must leave and before that happens there is something you need to hear. Can you do that?"

Wynne nods.

"Good," the spirit says. She then reaches out and takes Wynne's hand, sending a wave of warmth and goodness dancing along the mage's skin. "Then please, my child, hear me. You have been taught that happiness is a temptation, a danger. This is not so. Though it may not always end well, happiness and love are two things we must all strive for, no matter what. Grasp it now before it is gone and all you have left are regrets."

It sounds simple enough but Wynne knows it is anything but. She tries to tell the spirit this but suddenly it feels as though she is floating away. The world is going light and dark and then there is nothing.

* * *

She was lying on something soft. Wynne opened her eyes slowly and the sight of the dormitory slowly came into focus. She took a deep breath and focused on the feeling of lungs full of air. This world was real. She sat up carefully and looked around. There was sunlight streaming in from the window and the room was deserted so she guessed it was probably around noon, maybe a bit later. When she stood up and walked around, her light footsteps were the only sound she could hear. She headed for the doorway and peaked out. And froze.

Hector was standing out there, his helm off so she had no difficulty identifying him. She had a moment to just stand and look at him, to marvel – and then he turned towards her and his face broke out into a relieved smile. As that happened, suddenly memories began returning, like birds coming to roost. Seeing him in the Fade. Kissing him. Killing him. And now he was walking over to her like nothing had happened; not that she could blame him, since in his eyes nothing had.

"Congratulations," he said as he got closer.

"Thank you." She forced herself to keep looking at him, to see the differences. The demon had been assertive and always oh so close, while the real man kept a distance between them.

He shifted under her scrutiny. "I was certain you would be successful," he told her, "though I was worried that you'd ..."

Wynne nodded. "Nothing is after certain about the Harrowing, everyone knows that. Now I know why."

"What did – no, I'm sorry, I know you aren't allowed to tell me." He shifted again, his face reddening slightly, his nostrils flaring. "I should –"

"I saw you." She said it fast and sure, as if she had known before that moment that she was going to break every rule.

He didn't reply so quickly, his eyes flickering as the he took it all in. "Why would you ..."

Wynne scowled. "Don't try and pretend you don't know." She glanced down the hallway – still deserted. She took a step forward, moving so that he was within arm's reach. He swallowed hard but didn't say anything, didn't try to deny. So neither did she. Wynne pressed her body against his armour, threaded her fingers through his hair, and placed her lips against his.

Kissing him in this world, in reality, was different than in the Fade. It was hesitant, it was awkward ... and it was so much better. And when she pulled away and looked into his eyes, Wynne saw her face reflected in his eyes, along with ever thought and emotion that was bouncing between her heart and her head.

And so she kissed him again. And again. And again.

* * *

Over the next weeks, Wynne put her knowledge of hidden places in the tower to good use – she even surprised herself with just how many spots she knew of where she and Hector could be away from prying eyes, templar or otherwise. She'd had dalliances before, naturally, but always with other mages and so the level of secrecy required now was so much higher. Constantly, a voice in her head told her she should end this.

Constantly, she told that voice to shut up.

Tonight found her sneaking down the stairs with a large blanket clutched in her hands. She stepped slowly and carefully in the dark, not daring to use magic to light her way, at least not here. She paused at the doorway at the bottom, pressing her ear against the wood to try and hear anything on the other side, even though she knew it was unlikely given how thick the doors were. After a moment she pressed against it carefully, opening a crack to reveal nothing but darkness on the other side. She opened the door far enough for her to slip through and made sure the door did not slam behind her.

"Garren?" she called out, the false name yet another precaution.

"I'm here, Talia" Hector called back.

Wynne smiled and quickly pulled out the glowstone from her pocket, whispered a word, then gasped in surprise as his face appeared far closer than inspected, then closer still as he pulled her in for a kiss. She reached out to grasp his tunic, loving the feel of muscle underneath and the absence of any armour.

"Come on," she said softly at a moment, pulling him to her right.

He followed, looking back and forth at the bookshelves, a strangely unfamiliar sight without the regular lighting. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see," was all she said, greatly enjoying the mix of curiosity and lust that played out on his face.

It was very late indeed, late enough that there would only be two templars on this floor, both of whom would be in the hallways. Dealing with them had been Hector's responsibility and she wasn't going to ask exactly what he had done to ensure they were left undisturbed. Finally they reached their destination: the storerooms.

"You have the key?" Hector asked, his voice slightly awed.

"I have the key," she replied, pulling it out and placing it into the lock. "Getting it wasn't easy."

The click echoed through the room. Before the guards could decide that whatever Hector offered them wasn't worth it she opened the door and they both hustled in.

The air inside was musty but she hardly noticed as she pressed her body against Hector, dropping the blanket on the ground. One of his hands tangled in her hair, the other running down her side. Her own hands were once again wrapped up in his shirt but moving down, seeking the skin underneath. She pulled at the fabric insistently until it gave way. Hector released her for the moment it took to bring the shirt up over his head and then his arms were wrapped around her again, pulling her down to the ground.

If she'd had a choice, lying with Hector on a blanket in the dirt wouldn't exactly have been ideal. But it was either this or nothing and anyway she was sure she'd hardly notice in a minute or two.

They settled down on the ground with her on top of him, his fingers furiously working on the ties of her robes. Not too long after she felt the fabric loosen on the bodice. Hector began pressing kisses along her collarbone and then lower, over the tops of her breasts. Lower still and she gasped and moaned when his lips locked around her taunt left nipple. His hand sought the right, rolling it between his fingers, and she let her head roll back slightly, all the while pressing down against his hips and the hardness she could feel there and wanted oh so much.

He finally had to release her breasts in order to allow her the space and proper frame of mind to pull her arms out of her sleeves, allowing her robes to slip farther down, baring her skin from the naval up.

"Maker, you are beautiful," Hector said. Wynne was shocked when she felt a slight blush spread over her face as he said that but his voice was full of such reverence, such adoration. He was far from the first man she had been with but he was the first one she had ever ...

She reached for his face and pulled him towards her, kissing him deeply. And then she moved off him and out of her robes. Like always when she met him like this she had no underclothes on and so now completely naked she lay back and the blanket, shifting around to make it more comfortable, while Hector stripped off his pants and came over to her. She reached down and stroked his hard cock as he moved to kneel between her legs, smiling at his chocked groan and the feel of that hard flesh pulsing in the palm of her hand. She arched her back, her hips closing the distance between them but not enough to get close.

"Eager tonight, aren't we?" Hector said, which a chuckle. He captured her hand and brought it up, pinning it over her head as he came to lay over her. She answered by wrapping her legs around his hips and now she could feel him there, between her soft and wet folds. "I'll take that as a yes," he said with a gasp. His free hand slipped between them, taking a moment to slide across her slit, before he positioned himself and, with another groan, pushed himself inside her.

Wynne felt her body clench around his cock, her back arching again as her lips formed his name. He moved inside her slowly at first, smooth and steady. She reached up and held onto his back, clenching her fingers and digging her nails in. His pace began to increase, quickening alongside their gasping breath and pounding hearts. He leaned down and softly bit her shoulder, then kissed it all better.

It was different down here than when they'd been together before. Now they were able to take their time – but quickly found that they didn't want to, so used as they were to a quick release, a fumble in shadowy corners. Hector was now driving into her with force, pulling almost completely out before sheathing himself as deep as he could, the voices echoing through the tunnels. Wynne could feel her body tighten, ready for release and she cast a quick spell of healing and rejuvenation just as her orgasm hit. Moments later she felt Hector release inside of her and then his collapsed, his weight over her both suffocating and comforting.

They lay that way for many moments before he finally remembered himself and moved aside. Wynne rolled onto her side so she could look at him, at his face covered with the sheen of sweat, brown hair plastered to his forehead. She reached over and smoothed it, then traced the shape of his brow, his nose, his chin, and his lips. His eyes were closed at first but then opened, looking right at her with such warmth and care and ...

"Wynne, I-"

She leaned over and pressed his lips against his again, silencing him. As dangerous as this was, sneaking around at night for a tryst, it was even more dangerous to try and make it more than that. Even if they both knew that it already was.

* * *

"Wynne, can you hear me?"

She opened her eyes, looking up at the face of the sister. "Yes," she managed, her voice weak and trembling.

"Good. You're doing so well and now it's time to push. Are you ready?"

She managed to shake her head, even though she knew it wouldn't make a difference. This was one of those things that once started could never be stopped. Ready or not, the baby was coming.

* * *

When she was late by a day, Wynne tried to tell herself it was nothing, that she had just miscounted, never mind the fact that she never miscounted, was _never_ late. When she was late by a week, she told herself it couldn't be true.

When she was late by a month, she knew the time for denial was long gone.

She also knew what happened to any children born in the Circle. They would never let her keep the baby; she was just going to have to accept that. Not that she liked it but she liked the idea of being an apostate on the run even less.

Even worse though would be what they did to Hector, if they found out he was the father. And she knew they would find out because she knew that he would tell them in an ill-advised, and almost certainly futile, attempt to keep the child. And if, no _when_, that happened, the best care scenario was that he found himself sent to Aeonar, where at least they would see that he avoided lyrium withdrawal. Worst case scenario, they kick him to the streets without a second thought. The templars were not know for their mercy when it came to betrayal and that is what they would see this.

And so it was clear what she would have to do, even if the very idea made her soul quake. She couldn't protect the baby, her own child, but she could protect the father, her own love. Though by the time this was done, she would certainly have lost the ability to call him that.

* * *

It was a two part plan that formed in Wynne's mind. The first was to fail to show up at appointed times and places and then ignore Hector when he tried to ask her about it. For once she was glad of for his helm, as it meant she did not have to look him in the eye while she did this. Not that this made it easy, of course, but she was able to do it. The second part however was going to be much, much worse.

Getting Zekary to agree was easy, at least. They had been good friends since they both arrived at the tower two days apart. They also did have a history of casual dalliances, though it had been some time since they had last enjoyed each others company in that manner. It was harder to pick the best place, to chose a place that was somewhere private and yet not. Zekary suggested the library but she just couldn't quite go that far. Instead she picked the corridor just by the storeroom as not only would it be near deserted once night fell but it was also a place she had seen Hector patrol often of late.

They headed there together in the evening after a dinner that Wynne hadn't touched. She leaned back against the wall, the coldness of the stone seeping in through her clothes.

"Are you sure?" Zekary whispered, glancing down the hall. She could see it too, the light of someone approaching.

"It has to be done."

The templar came closer and she could tell from the way the figure walked that it was Hector. Wynne closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. And then she opened her eyes and reached for Zekary, pulling him close and pressing her lips tightly against his.

The metal clang of footsteps got closer and then stopped. Even at the distance, Wynne could hear Hector's breath catch. She arched her neck, allowing Zekary access to kiss down her throat and allowing her to look at Hector and make sure he saw her do it. And then she thought of all things cold, as if she was casting winter's grasp, but instead of unleashing her thoughts as a spell she put it all into her eyes. And then she looked away, kissing her mage partner again. It wasn't long until the footsteps began again, going in the opposite direction.

It was a few days later before she found out for sure that Hector had requested to be sent to a different post. She wondered what reason he had given them for the request; thankfully, her name had apparently never been mentioned. And so by the time it was obvious to the entire world that she was with child, Hector was long away, hating her but safe from harm.

Sometimes she wished she could say the same for herself.

* * *

"One more push, Wynne, you can do it."

At this point, she really wasn't sure she could but there was little else to do but push yet again. All she could see was red and pain now but surely things had to end eventually, even if the death was her only release.

And then ...

"I have the baby ... it's a boy ..."

A boy ...

Wynne forced her eyes to open, her ears to hear as the small sound of crying filled the room once more, though this time it wasn't coming from her. And she saw him or at least she saw his hand, waving, hand all scrunched up in the smallest fist in the world.

She had told herself she wouldn't, couldn't get attached but her arms had other ideas, reaching out for him. And her mind was beginning to find itself again, thinking of what she should call him.

But before she could think of anything the world began to lose focus, her breath became ragged, and it all faded away. But before the darkness engulfed all, Wynne saw a face, the same beautiful face of the prophet, of Andraste, of Mercy herself.

"You have done well, my darling," the voice in her head said. "Now rest. This is only the first trial of many."

And rest she did. By the time she next woke, the baby was long gone. As the years past, Wynne would think about Hector often, wondering what had happened to him, wondering if he was well, if he was happy. In weaker moments, she thought about asking after him and trying to write, to explain what had happened and why. But logic always prevailed and she knew the best thing she could do for both of them was to keep her secret.

She would think about their son every day of her life.


End file.
